


Names Change, but the Heart Stays the Same

by generalzero



Series: Overwatch OC Adventures [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Asexual Character, Dad 76, Dissociation, Friendship, Gen, Heroes, Latina main character, Menstruation, Non-Binary Main Character, Omnic main character, Overwatch OC, POC Main character, Post-Hero, Post-Recall, Pulse Night Club Shooting, Queerplatonic relationship, i kid you not, things explode
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-12
Updated: 2016-07-13
Packaged: 2018-07-14 14:02:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7174760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/generalzero/pseuds/generalzero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Soldier: 76 is heading to a Los Muertos safehouse to set an ambush for one of the gang leaders there.</p><p>Alejandra, the teenager he saved several months prior, is following him.</p><p>Solarix, in the interest of minimizing casualties, is going to blow the warehouse up while Los Muertos are gone.</p><p>This is going to go just swell...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Warehouse

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hyourin (HyourinmaruIce)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HyourinmaruIce/gifts).



> Hey folks! Another story with my Overwatch OC. Enjoy and review!
> 
> My trigger/tagging/warning policy: I err on the side of caution. I tag and warn for things even if I don’t think they’ll be “triggering” per say, because 1) I might be wrong, and 2) some days you just don’t need that kind of negativity in your life now matter how good the story is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated for canon-typical violence and mild language.
> 
> Disclaimer: Blizzard owns Overwatch and all associated characters.
> 
> Warnings: dissociation, child in danger

Alma laid her head against the cool concrete ledge of the building, hands grasping at her lower abdomen. She groaned loudly. She didn’t have time for this.

 _Vix, I’m going to kill you,_ she told her partner as another spasm hit her.

Vix was properly penitent. Alma could feel the emotion flowing from them to her. It was their fault and they knew it. They offered no apology, however. _Do you want to switch off?_ they asked.

It was tempting, but just because Alma would be riding backseat didn’t mean she wouldn’t be able to feel every cramp. No, it was better to go with the original plan. _That won’t help and you know it. Let’s just get this over with._

She pushed off the ledge and stood up straight, calming her mind and listening for signs of life in the darkened warehouse below her. It was just before dawn, after the members of Los Muertos had finished their nightly business at this, one of their main safe houses.

Alma and Vix were going to blow it up.

* * *

Soldier: 76 had spent the better part of the year hunting [and gunning] down members of the Los Muertos gang, but he was starting to think he’d have to give up the chase temporarily. Something else had come up, and it was not that foolish recall of Winston’s that 76 repeatedly reminded himself he was not going to answer. No, it was a _someone_ —someone who had recently begun following him.

He’d first become aware of them a few weeks ago when he’d been under chase from local authorities—the relatively un-corrupt kind, the kind he still couldn’t allow himself to shoot back at. It was annoying, and inconvenient, because as a “dangerous criminal” he was under pursuit from pretty much the minute local authorities realized he was in the area. On one particular day he’d made a foolish mistake, let himself get boxed in, and found himself in a dead end alley. Preparing to sink another rung lower on the morality ladder, Soldier: 76 turned his back to the alley wall and readied his pulse rifle.

There was a clattering of cans and rubbish behind him—he whirled. Nobody was there, but a stack of rubbish crates had fallen—been pushed?—to reveal one of the almost-invisible, knife-thin alleyways that littered old European and South American cities. His instincts screamed that it was a trap, but there was no time to to listen to his paranoia. He darted down the alley.

A coincidence, maybe.

The second time he had realized he was being tailed early on. He circled back, but couldn’t find anything but a teenager spray-painting the alley wall. When he walked by the place later, he saw the Spanish Overwatch slogan glaring at him in large clumsy yellow letters.

The feeling of being followed became a regular occurrence, and as he repeatedly failed to catch his tail, Soldier: 76 became increasingly convinced it was the work of a professional.

A very strange professional. One who, to his horror and confusion, managed to find the location of his local safe house [read: reasonably secure nondescript shack on the outskirts of town] and leave a case of ready-to-cook tamales there. He refused to eat them, sure they were poisoned, but seeing the case sitting in the corner whenever he stopped in reminded him to actually eat.

He spent a week agonizing over whether to abandon his safe house and go through the work of finding a new one. In the end he decided that he would, instead, complete his current hunt for a mid-range member of the Los Muertos gang. After getting new information and killing the thug, Soldier: 76 would turn his attention to his crazy stalker.

* * *

Alma and Vix had debated for a long time on the best time of day to complete this mission. Los Muertos were a dangerous and violent gang and they certainly would continue to wreak havoc if not detained. Unfortunately, Solarix was considered a vigilante and they had no way to see the terrorists arrested. Eventually they had settled on their current plan, which would minimize loss of life but hopefully cripple the gang’s ability to work.

Alma crept to the locked access door in the center of the roof. It was the easiest route in--once she’d managed to get glide over from a nearby rooftop in a maneuver involving hot air and a sheet of nylon that they were _not_ going to be repeating—because the ground floor of the warehouse had infrared alarms that she couldn’t counter. All the roof entrance had was a simple metal lock. Alma melted it of and crept down the dark stairs, letting her combat bands heat up to provide a small glow to see by.

Another wave of pain rolled through her uterus and Alma silently cursed the indulgence that had made her allow Vix talk her out of getting that hysterectomy last year. _Just so you know,_ she told them, _next time you use the “But human physiological processes are so fascinating!” line on me, I’m going to spend a week watching Omnic cyber porn._

The horror that washed over from Vix would have been highly satisfying if it hadn’t been so intense. Vix was a decidedly asexual Omnic: something to do, they reasoned, with not having an Omnic body.

They teased each other silently, threats becoming more and more absurd, as they made their way down to the control room, always keeping half of their combined attention tuned for danger. The room was just a partitioned section of the primary floor of the warehouse, open to the second-floor catwalks above. The security system would be simple to shut down, but things would have to be precisely timed because within thirteen seconds of hitting the ground floor sensors they would set off the infrared alarms.

 _You ready?_ She asked Vix.

 _Together as one,_ they replied.

With a deep, focusing breath, Alma and Vix melded, becoming Solarix, their unified alter-ego. They became aware of and in perfect control of every fiber of their being; all their complementing strengths fused; all distractions and uncertainties melted away like snow under the sun. They used the dim light from their combat bands to memorize the layout of the room below them before turning down their inner temperature as far as possible. They took several seconds to plan out each action needed to complete their goal.

Solarix dropped silently and gracefully into the control room, flipping the switch for the holo screen as they fell. As the system booted up, they rolled into a harmless landing and used their momentum to send a searing punch into the backup system under the desk, ensuring there would be no black-box recordings of their actions here for Los Muertos to find in the ashes. They quickly popped up in front of the now-ready control screen and made the pass code gesture they’d gotten from a previous spying trip. With two seconds to go, Solarix paged through the appropriate windows and shut down the warehouse’s security.

 _Mission: Accomplished,_ Vix said with satisfaction as they separated.

Alma rolled her eyes. _Alright, no more watching old movies._

Alma trekked back up to the catwalk to retrieve the bag she’d brought with her, stopping for a minute to grouse over pre-menstrual pain again. Then she made her way to the basement weapons cache. Out of the bag came several cannisters of compressed oxygen. She cleared a space in the center of the stacks of boxes, located the crates of ammunition and emptied them all onto the floor. Same with the box of grenades. Then she stood each cannister of oxygen upright into the middle of the pile. She went looking into other rooms until she found a tub of gasoline near an old-style jeep and brought it back to pour over the weapons crates. All finished, Alma stood with her arms crossed surveying the basement and thinking that blowing things up was actually a good cure for PMS crankiness.

* * *

Soldier: 76 surveyed the warehouse where Enrique Versalos managed supplied the Los Muertos. It was dawn, and the place was deserted. Los Muertos took pains to make the warehouse look empty during the day. No one would return until very late in the afternoon—at which point he intended to be inside, lying in wait for them. Checking for threats and watching eyes, he slipped along the outside of the warehouse, looking for a door to force.

Behind him, a fourteen year old girl peeked over an the ledge of a nearby roof.

Alejandra had been following 76 since the day he saved her life three months ago, first out of curiosity and then out of a growing sense of duty. The man was one of _los Protectores_ , she was sure, and he was trying to bring hope to the community while alone and hunted. He needed her help. Alejandra knew the city and all its secret crannies better even than the Los Muertos gang. She was inconspicuous; everyone still ignored her like they ignored children. Gradually, Alejandra grew bolder in her attempts to help the mysterious man. She followed him home, and—realizing she never saw him eating, remembering she never thanked him for saving her—brought him a case of her mother’s best tamales. She also learned, the hard way, when a call to the police would tip the scales in her hero’s favor and when it would leave him very fucked.

Right now, she needed to know more about the situation before deciding either way. Alejandra jumped down from the roof and crept after 76, following exactly in his footsteps to be sure of avoiding traps.

* * *

Alma walked around the perimeter of the basement, putting a super hot hand against a box here and there until the wood caught. Soon many of the weapon’s crates were flaming. The heat didn’t bother her in the least.

 _Alright let’s get out of here before we ruin our clothes again,_ said Vix.

Alma snickered at Vix’s reference to her so called “Supernova” ability, an explosion of heat that in her opinion would better be called “Overkill”. Last time Alma had tried it, the heat burned away all her equipment—and clothes.

Vix was right, though. They needed to am-scray.

Alma scurried upstairs and towards the nearest exit. Halfway across the shots rang out from above, directed at her. _Fuck!_ was the last separate thought Alma had before diving for cover and melding with Vix.

 _Fuck!_ was the first thought Solarix had as they panted behind the giant tire of a grounded hovertruck. The warehouse had been empty when they entered. The alarms were off and they didn’t know how many people had snuck into the building while they were occupied in the basement. It could be a full-fledged ambush from Los Muertos, for all Solarix knew.

Solarix took a deep breath and focused their mind. The shots had come from only one direction, over by the control room, but what they really needed was light. Unfortunately, the master switch for the overhead lighting was in the control room. Step one would be to shed some light, literally, on two questions: who and how many were their attackers?

Sacrificing stealth for force, Solarix heated up their combat bands. They glanced around, spotted a tire iron, a couple of heavy mechanic’s tools and then a old-style rubber tire. The flammable kind. Solarix grinned and crept quickly over to give the large tire a fierce hug. Solarix burned hotter, driving up their skin temperature until it surpassed the tire’s burning point. Everywhere they touched it the tire burst into flame. As quickly as they could, Solarix rolled to their feet, swinging the tire around to gain momentum before hurling it over the hovertruck. They vaulted after it an instant later, eyes searching the room as the bouncing ball of flame cast light all around.

Shots rang out from the catwalk as Solarix locked eyes withe the masked shooter, perched on one of the catwalks with what looked like a pimped out pulse rifle. Definitely not Los Muertos’ MO. This was an interloper.

A shot rang out, just one, and Solarix realized they’d just been target locked. Guided bullets were nasty. Instinctively the leapt off the top of the hovertruck and rolled away, but their conscious instinct and super reflexes was what saved them: they sliced both hands threw the air in front of them, creating a super hot channel of air that could repel slower bullets and melt faster ones. This one was fast—it melted in the air but it’s momentum threw the liquid metal all over their chest. It didn’t burn them anymore than anything else could, but when it cooled and hardened it would restrict their movement.

No time to dwell on it—Solarix scrambled across the warehouse floor, very aware of the timebomb ticking away a floor beneath them. They ducked into a row of five-meter shelving, and took the moment of cover to strip off their top. Hearing the catwalk clatter and a resounding thunk a second after, they concluded that the shooter had jumped down to the ground level with them. Solarix struggled for a moment, knowing they had to choose a path. Should they focus on escaping, and leave the interloper unawares to die? What if he escaped too? Was he someone they would have to eliminate, or would he listen to peace? What should they do?

Solarix wasted a precious moment to recenter themselves—not wasted, Zenyatta would say—and let the solution present itself. A moment passed, and another. Solarix was vaguely aware they were being crept up on; they could hear slow, sure steps slinking down the rows of shelving. The footsteps stopped. He was in the next row over, probably taking aim at them through a crack in the boxes.

Solarix threw themselves into the shelf, through a tangle of boxes and other detritus, burning away anything that did not immediately move. They rolled into the other aisle, straight into the shooter, making sure to get both hands on his rifle and one knee in his groin. Both of them toppled to the ground.

Solarix ignored the man’s growls tried to prevent him from throwing them off. Face inches away from his, Solarix nearly shouted at him: “Listen! The floor is about to explode so can we take this outside?”

///////

Alejandra had no trouble getting inside, but once that was accomplished it was very difficult to stay out of sight. 76 stalked up and down the warehouse, obviously looking for something. Once she kicked an old cigarette case and the small noise almost made her heart stop. Or maybe her heart had stopped when 76 swung around and aimed his rifle in her direction. To her relief he neither shot nor seemed to see her, so she backtracked very carefully to hide in an old hovertruck.

That’s when things started heating up. Someone else, a woman who seemed to move like lightning and glowed like it too, began a hair-raising battle with 76. Alejandra had never seen her before. Was this 76’s target? She certainly wasn’t a member of Los Muertos… Alejandra stayed in the hovertruck, watching: he woman jumped up on top of it and the cabin became incredibly hot, unnaturally so. Alejandra prayed that she wouldn’t bake alive. After the battle moved elsewhere she tumbled out of the truck, gulping fresh cool air. Then she heard a shout of surprise, and the voice belonged to her hero.

There were no more sounds, no more shots. Had lightning woman hurt him?

Without thinking, Alejandra grabbed the tire iron on the floor next to her and started running.

* * *

“What is that supposed to mean?” growled the shooter.

He didn’t wait for an answer, bucking his hips and swinging a fist that Solarix only just managed to duck. The world spun briefly as the man managed to start a quick roll that would leave him on top and able to escape—or inflict more damage. Solarix linked their legs into his and let go of the rifle only long enough to sling one arm around it and hug it to their chest before blasting heat through their combat bands and hooking their free arm around his neck. He teetered, off-balance, but seemed to be recovering. He was too big for Solarix to win fighting fair.

The weakest point of his armor was his head and face. Before he could shake them off, Solarix lifted herself upwards, the arm slung around his neck straining to hold all their weight at the awkward angle, and smashed their face into the crook of his neck. It was almost like an embrace, except their skin was hot enough to boil sulfur. He lost the rest of his balance then, trying to jerk away from them, and Solarix rolled them both back over, managing to throw the gun away in the process. When they were back on top, they realized his mask was beginning to bubble in some places and his visor was sparking.

“Shit!” Solarix scrabbled at the mask, ripping it off before it could do further damage.

The man’s face was not severely burnt, though it shone bright red and shiny. He was panting, gasping for air, and Solarix shifted their weight off his chest but not so far off he could escape. There was something about his face, grizzled and scarred, that was familiar…

Alma nearly fell off of the man as she realized with a rush of disorientation that Vix had separated. What was going on?

_Vix! Are you okay? Why did you break off?_

_Sorry, I’m sorry. One of your memories—I wasn’t sure but then his expression was exactly the same—I couldn’t be fighting him anymore._

Alma didn’t understand. Vix kept track of some of Alma’s memories from before they had met Zenyatta because she didn’t want to lose memories of certain triggering events—which meant he had to bring them to her attention inf the siuation called for it, because she could do it herself. Slow down and explain, Alma demanded, then added, but do it before he tries to kill us again.

_No time—the basement, remember? But you know him. He’s Jack Morrison._

Alma’s gaze snapped back to the man’s face. The resemblance was there, certainly… “Jack?”

He stiffened, for just a moment, before scowling at her as if he hadn’t, and Alma knew it was him. What happened to him? Had he been captured by Talon, conditioned like one of Zenyatta’s young followers had? Did he recognize her?

Jack tried to get up again, but Alma grabbed his arms and shoved him back down. “Commander Morrison. Jack. I’m Alma Charo. Do you remember me? We’re on the same side.”

“I’m on nobody’s side anymore.”

_Alma, the basement! Any second now!_

Jack was shifting, preparing stealthily to throw her off, and Alma knew she really couldn’t stop him with his weight advantage. She heated an arm until the bands glowed and thrust it up to his throat, not touching but close enough to be damn persuasive. “You are Jack Morrison and you know who I am. You know you can trust me, dammit, so listen: I’ve rigged the building to explode and if you don’t leave right now you’re going to die.”

There was a pause as Alma gave him the chance to not be an idiot. She was just about to let him go when the sound of footsteps rapidly clattering closer made her glance down the aisle.

A girl, not more than fourteen, raced into view and slid to an ungraceful stop several meters away. She was panting, and her pale face betrayed more than a little terror, but she was gripping a tire iron like a baseball bat and scowling threateningly at Alma.

“Leave him alone,” the girl shouted.

“ _Dios mio_ ,” Alma breathed, feeling cold down to her bones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is unbetaed, so feel free to be helpful and point out typos and inconsistencies, esp. w/pronouns!
> 
> Spanish Translations:
> 
> Los Muertos: The Dead  
> los Protectores: The Protectors [here: Overwatch]  
> Dios mio: Oh my God


	2. Boom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated for canon-typical violence and language.
> 
> Disclaimer: Blizzard owns Overwatch and all associated characters.
> 
> Warnings: panic attack, blood

Alejandra was ready to suppress a flinch, ready for the lightning woman to attack her. She didn’t know what exactly would happen, but she had steeled herself—she thought—to be ready for anything. She didn’t expect for _Señor_ 76 to throw off his attacker and point at her.

“You!” he growled. “How did you get here?”

Alejandra flinched anyway. Her voice sounded small, small like it did when her _Mamí_ caught her sneaking out, as she answered: “I followed you. I wanted… to help.”

His mask was gone, Alejandra noticed immediately. His face was old, grizzled like her _abuelo_ ’s had been, and scarred [not like her _abuelo_ ’s]. It made his glare very impressive. For a moment, Alejandra thought he would stay angry, and it occurred to her for the first time that she had done the wrong thing. What was she doing here, with a silly tire iron, trying to keep up with a real hero like _Señor_ 76?

Then 76’s glare softened.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he he heaved a gruff sigh. “My professional tail has been a _kid_.”

Alejandra grinned. Was she that good?

Suddenly a bundle of green cloth hit her in the face and Alejandra jumped, remembering the lightning woman.

“Put that around your head, _niña_. It’s heat proof.” The woman commanded Alejandra in rapid Spanish before turning her attention to 76. “Jack! Take her and _run_.”

Alejandra picked up the cloth—it was a sleeveless undershirt of some synthetic material—she glanced at the woman, who, sure enough, was now wearing only her pants and a sports bra. Alejandra suddenly realized she was out of her depth. Hadn’t these two been fighting a moment ago? Now 76 just nodded at the woman and bolted toward Alejandra.

“You heard her, kid. Cover your head,” he said as he scooped her up as easily as if she were a doll. Alejandra scrabbled awkwardly at the shirt until it slid over her head, then gripped _Señor_ 76 as tightly as she could as he started running. She didn’t know what was happening to make these two fighters so frightened, but she knew with him she would okay.

* * *

There was a minuscule rumble beneath their feet. It was starting. Solarix ran, painfully aware that Jack was older and slower than them, especially weighed down with a leggy teenager. They paced themselves to stay with him, grasping for some kind of plan to get them all out of here. They weren’t going to make it without one. The main explosion would come within the minute, as soon as the oxygen cannisters caught.

Next time they wanted to blow something up, Solarix vowed, they would use explosives and a remote detonator like a normal fucking person.

A low, dark sound broke the early morning silence and the concrete floor gave a small roll. Solarix slid to a stop as Jack stumbled, unable to right himself and keep from dropping the girl at the same time. Solarix darted in to keep him from falling. As they caught his eye the look on his face reminded them very strongly of the Jack Morrison Alma used to know. “You’re faster than this, aren’t you?” he said.

“No, Jack,” Solarix said, and they both knew Solarix wasn’t replying to Jack’s question.

Jack wouldn’t be persuaded. “Civilians first, soldier.”

This time Solarix was aware of the flicker of memory Jack’s words produced, aware of Vix suppressing the desire to separate and sort out the rush of feelings it produced. Their distraction allowed Jack to pry the teenager’s fingers off his jacket and force her into Solarix’s arms. There was no time to argue; their lives were measured in seconds right now.

The girl was only a bit smaller than Solarix, but with unity came strength. For a few seconds, for all the time that mattered, Solarix could carry this girl. They sped away, soon leaving Jack behind despite the increase in his speed from being unburdened. They breached the outer door of the warehouse and kept running, well aware that the explosion would reach much farther. The building was shaking, and Solarix could sense the growing heat in its belly. Their minute was up.

“Hold onto me,” they commanded the girl, before swinging around and planting their feet against the oncoming explosion. Their hands slashed in several wide arcs, building a heat shield to protect them. Solarix forced heat outward, like a solid wall, searing the air until it stood a chance of buffering back the incoming flames. _Let the Iris help me._

It worked. Just like a counter blaze that turns away a prairie fire, the shield turned aside the outside heat, leaving Solarix and the girl uncomfortably hot but not dead.

Unfortunately, there was no power in Solarix’s arsenal that could do anything about the shockwave that preceded the explosion, blowing them off their feet.

* * *

Alma remembered only ever having one mission with Commander Morrison. She didn’t know him well; he wasn’t Jack to her like he was to Winston and Dr. Zeigler, or even Dad like it seemed he was to every third Overwatch employee. Just Commander Morrison, the slightly less intimidating version of Commander Reyes.

Both of them were on this mission with her, as well as Winston, Reinhart, Torjborn and several of Overwatch’s other heavy hitters. They were taking a heavily guarded terrorist headquarters, one guarded with stolen Bastion units from the war. The idea, Reyes explained, was to sneak her far enough behind enemy defenses that she could blow up the headquarters. The terrorists had been given every chance to surrender, and instead they had responded by taking more lives. Overwatch was ready to wipe them off the map.

The bulk of the team led a distraction while Commanders Morrison and Reyes acted as her escort. The way the two had moved together, a seamless team, was so breathtaking that it was one of the sharpest parts of the memory. They{d only gotten halfway in when their pursuers had become too strong: Reyes and Morrison stayed to hold them back, directing Alma to sneak ahead. Alma remembered thinking, incredibly anxious, that she’d have no problem creating one of her little Supernovas. She was so on edge the difficulty would be in holding back until the proper moment, until everyone on the team was out of the blast zone.

Then it had all gone to hell. Alma reached the center of the encampment and seen that it was full of civilians—not hostages, probably more like family members. She’d balked, reported it to the others, and listened to Reyes and Morrison have a short and vehement argument that included the phrase “acceptable causalities” several times. Finally Commander Morrison cut Reyes off and ordered her to abort: “Civilians first, soldier.”

Alma stayed with the civilians, unable to retreat until the others fought tooth and nail to take the encampment the old-fashioned way. Not even Reyes or Morrison could come get her, even though she told them several times, in a terrified voice, that she didn’t know if she could hold back an explosion—she felt like she was shaking apart.

Tucked into a corner, Alma tried to shut her eyes and ears to the world around her. She shrieked at anyone who came near her, afraid of hurting someone. She stayed that way even after the others arrived. “Get everyone away from me!”

She could hear disgust in Reyes’s tone and heard Morrison shout for everyone to clear the area. Many footsteps leaving, then one pair coming towards her. She heard someone kneel down in front of her.

“Hey.” It was Commander Morrison. “You did a good job. You kept everyone safe.” His voice was low and soft. “They gave up pretty easy after Gabe let them know we essentially had their families hostage.”

With a bomb. With her. She was the bomb.

“You did good. It’s time to settle down now.”

“I… I can’t.” Alma remembered she’d started sobbing by then.

“Are you injured?”

“No. I think I’m going crazy. I’m a time bomb.” Alma looked up then, and surprised herself realizing how close Commander Morrison was. Close enough to feel how hot her skin was burning. He wasn’t flinching away; instead he acted like he didn’t notice. Maybe he didn’t. Maybe he was such a badass that nothing bothered him. Why was he such a perfect soldier and she was so fucked up? Another sob. She put her head in her arms again. “I hate this. I hate being a weapon. I’m not even a good one. I’m out of control.”

“You’re not a weapon, Charo. You’re a soldier. You’re even a good one. You don’t give me half the shit Tracer does.”

His radio buzzed to life; he dismissed the voice on the other end with a firm “Not now” and returned his attention to her.

“Charo. Alma. Listen up. You saw the world needed help and you stood up to help it, and that makes you a hero. And that’s tough, I know. But you’re not alone here. Everyone in Overwatch is fighting with you, fighting for you.”

A long pause. Alma remembered thinking wryly that they should put Morrison in charge of recruitment. After a moment, he sighed. “Ah… I’m no good at this pep talk stuff. I’m just a soldier. But I’ve got your back, Alma. You can trust me on that.”

Alma couldn’t let that one go. “You have _everyone_ ’s back.” She looked up at him, with a weak half smile. “Commander _Dad_.”

He’d rolled his eyes, or something, and threatened, without any real intention, to kill McCree for starting the joke. “Alright, Sunstroke. Try this on: I trust _you_ to have my back. Explosions and all. Now what do you say we go home?”

* * *

Alma kept her eyes tightly closed long after the world stopped spinning. _Vix, I can’t wake up._

_Yes you can,_ they assured her, in the tone one might use to coax a frightened child out of a hiding spot.

_What if they’re both dead?_

Vix could feel the worry tumbling around Alma’s mind. Deciding it was best that they take charge, they gently wrapped Alma in comforting memories and then started assessing the situation. I’ll drive.

Vix mentally checked their body for injury. They’d been blown back onto their back, and most likely slid for a ways as well, judging from the burning scrapes on their back and their aching shoulders. Without a shirt the damage had to be pretty severe, and the wounds would be dirty. Vix stifled amusement as they noticed their menstrual cramps were still valiantly vying for attention as well. Their ribs hurt; there was a strong weight lying on them and Vix realized that they could hear the human teenager’s heartbeat just above theirs.

_There, the girl is alive, see?_  
  
Alma’s fear tamped down slightly.

Vix opened their eyes and had to blink against the sun. Not more than a twenty minutes had passed, but it was enough for the dawn light to filter down the street to them. It cast a pretty shade of pink on all the wreckage around them: chucks of blackened concrete, metal detritus, twisted support beams… The warehouse was a decrepit shell of a build slowly but surely falling into the crater left by the explosion. It also cast a halo around the dark head of the girl lying on top of them. She was awake, but she hadn’t moved. She had nudged their shirt down around her neck and was staring at Vix with round, wide brown eyes. Her mascara was smudged and she looked shaken.

“Hello there. We haven’t met,” Vix said, smiling. “My name is Vix. I use they pronouns. Who are you?”

“I’m Alejandra… _pero_ everyone calls me Ale. I use she pronouns, _Señore_.” She was whispering.

Vix was pleased to note the gender neutral title—what a polite young woman. They switched to Spanish with a little help from Alma. “Ale, are you hurting anywhere?”

Ale shook her head, then bit her lip. “My legs—they’re scraped pretty bad. And I’m kinda dizzy. And my heart is beating so fast.”

“That’s what happens when you’re very brave. Afterward it all catches up with you.”

Ale nodded seriously.

“Ale,” Vix said after a moment, “are you able to get off of me? We should probably leave before the authorities arrive.”

“Oh!” Ale started to scramble up, then winced and moved more gingerly to her feet. Vix followed, groaning a little. “The police don’t come to this side of town often,” Ale continued. She half turned, taking in the ruins of the warehouse. “They might come for that, though.”

Vix agreed. Unfortunately, they didn’t have a safe house nearby, nor any quick way to get out of the area. They hadn’t anticipating things to shit this badly. _I’ll listen out for sirens,_ Alma told them. _Or other interested parties…_

Ale’s expression was deeply furrowed, and Vix waited for her to speak up. “ _Señore_ , what about…”—the girl glanced back at the still smoking warehouse— “What about Señor 76?”

_Jack…_ Alma keened.

“That’s our first stop,” Vix told them both. “Can you be brave a little longer and come with me, Ale?”

Ale’s expression firmed into determination once more. She nodded.

They both picked there way towards the warehouse, slowly, hampered by aching backs and aching shins, eyes scanning the ground for their friend. Vix was also keeping their senses tuned in the way Zenyatta had taught them, listening for other life—the hum of an Omnic’s power core, or the beat of a human’s heart.

* * *

Soldier: 76 regained consciousness alone, without fanfare, face down in the rubble. His first instinct was to move, to dodge, to scan for danger—his body was programmed to shake off shock way faster and preserve adrenaline way longer than a normal human’s could. It meant sometimes his brain had to catch up to his instincts. In this particular instance it meant he tried to get up immediately, assume some sort of battle ready stance, before properly checking his surroundings. The pertinent aspect of his surroundings being the sharp spar of iron spar balancing inches above his back on edge of a broken slab of concrete. Before he could remember that a building just fell on top of him, 76 knocked it off it’s delicate perch.

He managed to roll away before the falling end could skewer him, but the rough edge tore through his jacket and into his side, leaving a long deep gash before plunging into the ground with a deep ringing noise.

_Well, this is nice,_ 76 thought as he realized that he had rolled the wrong way. The other direction would have had him on relatively clear ground, able to pick his way out of the pile of rubble surrounding him. Instead his back was up against a concrete wall and the iron spar had him effectively pinned in the tight spot. At least he wasn’t too badly burnt. Not that it would do him a lot of good if he bled out, or if he was still stuck here when the authorities arrived, or worse, Los Muertos.

The sound of crunching rubble made 76 tense. Someone was approaching. Had Los Muertos already arrived? Carefully, 76 reached down for the hidden knife sheathed in his boot, just barely able to reach, restricted as he was. The steps were definitely coming towards him. He readied his aim.

The moment the intruder was in view 76 threw the knife. The figure dodged.

“Son of a virus!” Sunstroke swore. “Do you always shoot first and ask questions later?” Something about Sunstroke’s voice, or maybe her turn of phrase, sounded different—different even from a few minutes ago.

The girl peeked her head out from behind 76’s old comrade, looking relatively unharmed. “ _Señor_ 76!” she chimed, touching concern written all over her face. “You’re bleeding!”

76 suppressed a growl. “You were supposed to get the kid to safety,” he said accusingly to Charo.

“I’m working on bringing her whole being to safety. She is physically out of danger, and I am attempting to rectify her emotional distress right now.” Charo picked their way closer to 76, followed by the girl.

There it was—he had it. Charo was talking like an Omnic. He regarded her suspiciously. “What happened to you?”

Charo’s expression showed she could obviously sense the long-term connotation of the question. Her response was unexpected, though. “I’m sure Alma would like to ask you the same question. And before you ask—no, I’m not Alma right now. Will you trust me to explain after we’re not in the middle of a crime scene?”

Hell no. Charo—not Charo?—sighed at him. “Alma needs to rest, but she says she still trusts you to have her back. Ah… ‘Explosions and all.’ Is that good enough for you?”

76 remembered the conversation she was referring to, despite the many years that had past. To be honest he had not crossed paths with Charo much. She’d been far less confident, far more troubled, when he knew her. Still, it wasn’t such a unique turn of phrase, or something he could be sure she never would have told anyone else… His mind wandered to the growing bloodstain on his side and he growled in frustration. He didn’t have a choice. “Alright. Fine. Can you help me out of this goddamn deathtrap?”

Charo-Not-Charo grinned, and squatted down as close as they could get with the spar of iron between them. “Great. My name’s Vix. They/them pronouns. I have good news and bad news for you.”

Obviously they were waiting fro him to ask. “Are you going to elaborate?” he said.

Vix gestured to the iron spar. “Good news is I can get you out.”

Obviously. This new Sunstroke obviously had much finer control of their heat abilities. They could likely just melt the spar way.

“Bad news is… you’re not gonna have to worry about bleeding out.”

…which was, 76 realized, a delicate way of saying that the hot iron was going to cauterize his newest injury and probably a good deal of non-injured skin would be burnt along with it. This was gonna hurt like a motherfucker.

“Fuck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don’t forget to review! Also, this fic is unbetaed, so feel free to be helpful and point out typos and inconsistencies, esp. w/pronouns!  
> Spanish Translations:  
> Señor 76 does not mean Soldier 76 but Mr. 76 [Ale does not know who 76 is, just noticed the number]  
> Mamí/Mom  
> Abuelo/grandfather  
> Niña/girl  
> Pero/but  
> Señore is the gender neutral version of Señor [Mr. or sir]/Señora [Mrs. or ma’am], not officially recognized, also can be seen as Señorx


	3. Safe House

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am dedicating this story and my OC to the victims of the shooting at Orlando’s LGBTQ+ Pulse Nightclub, with deep regret that there were no heroes like 76 or Solarix to stop this tragedy. Please remember that you can be a hero, now matter how small [ex. Alejandra], and that the world really needs you to be one. Start by supporting the LGBTQ+, Latinx, and muslim communities online and IRL.
> 
> Rated for canon-typical violence and language.
> 
> Disclaimer: Blizzard owns Overwatch and all associated characters.
> 
> Warnings: blood

Alejandra listened carefully, to 76 and Señore Vix, but also to her surroundings—she was nervous about Los Muertos. This was primarily their neighborhood, and she had the feeling that even though the arrival of the police would be bad, the arrival of Los Muertos would be worse. She sat on one edge of the pile of rubble surrounding _Señor_ 76, swinging her feet back and forth just a little. With Vix kneeling next to him, there was no room for her to get closer.

“Can I help?” Alejandra asked when it looked like Vix was getting down to business. “I could hold it,”—she pointed at the troublesome iron spar— “make sure it doesn’t fall.”

 _Señore_ Vix shook their head. “No. It’s about to become extremely hot. Don’t touch it at all. Stay where you are.”

Instead Alejandra moved to the other edge, above _Señor_ 76, and, pursuing a hunch, pulled off Vix’s shirt and dangled it in front of 76. “Here. Put this on your head.”

Vix clucked in approval. “Sharp girl you are, Ale.” When 76 started protesting Vix poked him in the chest and told him not to be an idiot. Alejandra was beginning to like _Señore_ Vix. They were very reasonable, for an adult. And they were helping her take care of _Señor_ 76.

Alejandra had not yet seen an up-close demonstration of Vix’s abilities. She watched with fascination as they squeezed behind the iron spar above 76 and braced a shoulder against the concrete block behind him, finally gripping spar carefully with both hands. Their hands began to blur and Alejandra realized the air around them was growing hot like a mirage. The the iron underneath them started glowing red.

“Get ready to move, this thing is gonna be heavy.”

The iron took a little while to heat, but soon enough Alejandra heard _Señor_ 76 hissing in pain. She could smell leather burning, and also something else she’d never encountered before—his skin, she realized. She suddenly felt a little sick.

The iron continue to lighten in color, until suddenly Vix changed their grip and bent it away from 76, immediately wobbling as the spar’s weight fell on them. “Move, move, move!” they gritted out rapidly.

76 rolled away and backed up the side of the pile of debris. Vix dropped the spar and plopped down next to him. They were both breathing heavily. 76 wordlessly pulled off Vix’s shirt and offered it back them. They wiped their face with it first before shrugging it back on, wincing as it slid down their back. Alejandra’s knees began to prickle as she was reminded of the bleeding, dirty scrapes running from them down her shins. She was luck, it occurred to her, to have gotten off so easily.

“Thank you both. For saving me,” she said, a touch shyly.

Both their gazes snapped to her, almost as if they’d temporarily forgotten about her. Vix gave her a strained smile, but it was 76's reaction Alejandra was on tenterhooks for.

“What’s your name, kid?”

“Alejandra Durante Bonaventura,” she said proudly. With a glance at _Señore_ Vix, she added: “ _Pronombres de ella._ ” She waited expectantly.

Vix suddenly stiffened. “Sirens incoming. We need to move.” They glanced at _Señor_ 76\. “Tell me your safe house is closer than _Plaza Salida del Sol_.” Alejandra recognized the name of a neighborhood in the Omnic district, probably the only place in the city where a person with Omnic implants like _Señore_ Vix could get a room. It was across town. Having been to the place 76 was renting in _Barrio Bajo_ , she knew it was even farther.

76 shook his head. “Get ready for a long walk.”

As they both got their feet, Alejandra had an idea. She scrambled down from the edge of the pile and grabbed _Señor_ 76’s arm. “Wait! _Señores_ , you can come to my safe house. I live in this _barrio_ ; I know all of the secret places. And I can bring you things you need, and help you avoid Los Muertos.”

“ _You_ have a safe house?” Vix asked.

Alejandra but her lip. She did have one. It was occupied, but she did. “ _Sí._ ”

“More like a club house…” growled _Señor_ 76.

Vix rolled their eyes. “Move, Jack. We don’t have a lot of options.”

Alejandra grinned and took the lead. The three of them managed to limp away from the warehouse just in time. From less than a half mile away sirens rang loudly; people in the surrounding building were starting to wake up, or arrive at their workplaces. Both of los Protectores were tiring quickly: the morning’s events and injuries seemed to be rapidly catching up with them. Lucky they had her, Alejandra thought.

Alejandra led them through a corkscrew path of thin alleys, unused buildings and empty yards. She took extra care to avoid main thoroughfares, knowing that while she could blend into a crowd her two bloodied and frankly dangerous looking companions could not. She hurried, very aware that she had to be back home before her _Mamí_ woke to open the bakery. She had very little time to spare by the time she knocked at a little wooden door three blocks away from her home.

She didn’t hear a reply, assumed the occupant was in the cellar, and barged in, dragging 76 behind her the sleeve of his jacket. “Ion! _Amigo!_ ” she called. “You won’t believe what happened. I need you to take care of a few friends of mine for— _Ay, Carajo!_ ”

Alejandra jerked to a stop and clapped her hand over her mouth. She didn’t know what was worse: that her Mamí was here, standing with hands on her hips and a storm in her eyes in the center of the room, or that she had just heard Ale swear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don’t forget to review! Also, this fic is unbetaed, so feel free to be helpful and point out typos and inconsistencies, esp. w/pronouns!
> 
> Alejandra’s name [my headcanon] is packed with symbolism: Durante means ‘stubborn’ and Bonaventura means ‘good fortune’. Alejandra, obviously, means ‘leader’. She’s a hero in the making… Alma’s name has some bilingual bonus as well: her first name means ‘soul’ and Charo is a corruption of the word ‘caro’ for ‘beloved’.
> 
> Spanish Translations:  
> Pronombres de ella/ she pronouns  
> Plaza Salida del Sol/Sunrise Plaza  
> Barrio Bajo/Low Town [ie. the “projects”]  
> Barrio/neighborhood  
> Señores/gender-neutral plural honorific like “sirs” but with no exact English translation  
> Sí/Yes  
> Amigo/buddy  
> Carajo/oh fuck [Kind of an iffy translation, depending on area, but definitely not something you want to say in front of your mother. Ale probably heard it from Los Muertos.]


	4. No Place for Heroes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated for canon-typical violence and language.
> 
> Disclaimer: Blizzard owns Overwatch and all associated characters.
> 
> Warnings: mentions of blood, references to the Pulse Night Club shooting

Alma was burning with second-hand embarrassment. Vix could feel it and tell it was derived from an old memory, but they weren’t sure what it was for until Alma explained, with a bit of humor. _Apparently madres latinas haven’t changed much since I was little. Look at her foot tapping! Ale’s fucked._

_And that’s amusing?_

_You wouldn’t understand._

Vix filed that away in their “Alma Is Weird” category [which was distinctly different from their “Humans Are Weird” one] and returned their attention to inspecting Ale’s so-called safe house. It was a tiny windowless room, with a ladder in the corner descending to the floor below. The place was lit by a partially broken EternaLamp duct-taped to one of the walls. It obviously a storage room of some sort: old furniture and dusty appliances were piled along the walls, and crates of dry food goods and spare parts were piled closer to the center. If there was really a living space, it had to be in the lower level, down the ladder.

Ale and her mother were arguing in the center of the room. Ale alternated between wincing, pleading and arguing; her mother looked very serious and tapped her foot rapidly. She also sent suspicious glanced to both Jack and themselves, who both hovered near the door. Jack, who had closed the door behind them, no doubt due to a well-developed sense of paranoia. He looked very displeased with the situation. Vix could tell that Jack’s presence and condition was causing Alma no little stress, but they were confident she was no longer panicking.

The most important detail of the room, in Vix’s opinion, was the person perched on the ladder, peeking apprehensively into the room at the argument between mother and daughter. They were an Omnic, a later model developed after Vix went to space. They were round and reasonably sleek, but definitely had seen a lot of unnecessary wear and tear lately. The kind of wear and tear, Vix thought a touch grimly, that one received from being tripped, kicked and hit.

Vix gestured hello, using one of the more standard non-verbal Omnic languages that allowed Omnics to communicate privately around humans. Consisting mainly of small, tight gestures and subtle motions, with rhythm and number playing a large role, the language was slightly difficult using Alma’s clumsy fingers, but Vix had modified it with successful results before. The trick was that most Omnics did not expect a “human” to start talking to them that way.

Taps with two fingers on the side of their thigh. _Hello, friend._

The Omnic noticed immediately and replied promptly, but with a little suspicion. _Who are you? How do you know Language Protocol 497G3?_

Vix indicated their answer, including a motion that injected a touch of what humans called sass. _Well, Little Beta, I was around when they were developing it. Designation Vix, sub-designation they. I am sharing hardware space with a human, designation Alma Charo Alvarez, sub-designation she. Do not be alarmed. It is a highly unorthodox arrangement, I know, but also very rewarding. Can I ask your designation?_

The Omnic evidently had a cheeky streak, because they answered with similar sarcasm. _My designation is Ion, sub-designation she. Tell me, Most Ancient and Wise Analog Vix, how does one get oneself into such a situation?_

They swapped stories for a second and a half, speaking at a normal speed for Omnics—but Alma could neither keep up nor manage to concentrate on the human conversation in the room. _Can you two hold off until we figure out if I’m going to be able get bandages and a hot bath sometime before next year?_ she asked.

Vix shared a few more taps and twitches with Ion before allowing Alma to concentrate on the magnificent scolding Ale was getting from her mother.

“…You think I am getting old and stupid, _hija_? Is that it? You nearly fall asleep working the bakery counter every day; your clothes are torn and filthy all the time. You thought I wouldn’t notice? Or wonder where you met an Omnic on this side of town and why you begged me to rent her the emergency shelter and let her work at _la panadería_?”

_How long has this girl been following after Jack?_

“I’m sorry, _Mamí_ —”

“ _Cállate!_ I am not finished. You lied to me, Alejandra.” Señora Durante heaved a sigh that appeared to be half a sob. She put a hand on each of Ale’s shoulders. “I was so worried about you. You know this neighborhood. Being out at night is dangerous enough, but hanging around Los Muertos… How was I supposed to know you were not becoming one of their new _cavaleras_? What if you didn’t come home one morning?” She pulled Ale into a fierce embrace. “What if you didn’t come home, _cariña_? You’re all I have left.”

“ _Mamí_ , I had _los Protectores_ to save me. They’re real. Just like you always said.”

Vix had no idea what expression to make in response to the look they got from Ale’s mother. It was partly hostile, full suspicious, shrewd, guarded, grateful and concerned all at the same time. It was also giving Vix the feeling that Alma’s wary respect for _madres latinas_ was not so unfounded as they thought.

_Let me take over._

Vix surrendered control with relief. Alma took a deep breath, recalling the long-abandoned behavioral patterns of her youth. She summoned a very penitent look. “ _Señora_ , we can leave if you like. We are both very sorry”—they glanced at Jack, who was radiating unfriendliness and standing with arms crossed, rigidly pretending that some wound or other had not reopened and begun dripping blood onto the rough floor— “for endangering Alejandra, and for intruding, but we ran into some trouble that Ale was kind enough to help us out of”—that was stretching the truth a little, but Alma wanted to help the girl—“and she offered us a place to recover. As you can see, we are in need of some medical attention.”

_Señora_ Durante’s stern look did not change. “And I suppose two vigilantes like you are hesitant to show up at the city ER. I’ve seen you both on the Most Wanted list.”

Alma bit her lip. It was fair of her to distrust them. Still, she hadn’t called the police yet. “Truthfully, _Señora_ , when it comes to hospitals, I’m less afraid of prison than I am of being allowed to bleed out because of these.” Alma brushed a hand along the visible portion of her cybernetic implants. It was perfectly true, and might buy them some pity.

When no answer was forthcoming, Alma glanced at Jack. He met her eye. “The world’s no place for heroes anymore, Sunstroke,” he murmured.

She blinked in surprise. What had _happened_ to Jack Morrison?

“That’s not true. And it’s Solarix now. And you and I are going to talk.”

_Señora_ Durante snapped her fingers, catching their attention. “And we will talk also, after you two stop bleeding all over my house. Ion, will you please take Ale home? _Mi hija_ , if you set foot out of your room before I return you will need more than _los Protectores_ to save you. _Vete._ ”

* * *

Nine months down the fucking drain.

Versalos would go into hiding after having his warehouse blown up. 76 wouldn’t be able to question him about Los Muertos’ suppliers, so that was another potential Talon lead lost. Furthermore, the gang itself would be on edge now, watching for him. The explosion would be blamed on him and depending on how long the panic it caused took to blow over he could be set back for months.

On a more personally frustrating level, 76 had lost his pulse-rifle, his tactical visor and his safe house. He couldn’t possibly go back to it knowing the foolish girl was following him around. The girl, of course was yet another complication, as was Sunstroke—ah, Solarix. They had both seen his face, heard him without the visor’s voice distorter. Solarix at least had drawn the obvious conclusion about his identity. 76 had been avoiding former Overwatch members religiously, and now one had dropped right into his way. They’d changed, obviously, so he couldn’t predict what they’d do with the information.

And to top it all off, he was more seriously injured than he had been in a long time, and he was feeling it. It’d be days before he could start scoping for a new safe house. He certainly wasn’t saying her for any longer than necessary.

76 fumed silently at the situation as he patched himself up with the supplies provided by _Señora_ Durante. He had refused coldly to let her look him over, and unlike some medics 76 knew—*cough*Mercy*cough*—she was more than willing to let rude patients take care of themselves. She was working on Solarix’s back now, with a skill that was too efficient to be untrained. The woman’s safe house, too, was actually rather impressive. The room they had entered was mostly a decoy storage space; after Alejandra and the Omnic left, she’d led them down the ladder into a neat, well-stocked panic room, the kind built all over during the Omnic crisis: Lead-lined and sound-proofed walls, a noisy generator, water tank and a compact computer station. All of it was very old, but it was obvious it still worked. 76 wondered if _Señora_ Durante had been involved in the crisis, but then decided she was too young. He resolved to keep an eye on her.

Solarix—were they Alma right now?—was groaning rather theatrically while chatting away with _Señora_ Durante as the woman worked on cleaning out the wounds on her back. “…and so we looked through the records Vishkar had on Los Muertos and I thought I’d head up here and see if I could help. I found one of their major warehouses. If you catch the news today you’ll probably see it. I blew it up. The only problem is that one of my old friends”—they nodded at 76 “happened to be there, too, and Alejandra had followed him.”

“What were you doing, Señor? You’ve been here a lot longer, if the news is anything to go by.”

Unlike Solarix, 76 was not about to spill all of his secrets to this woman. “Hunting.” He ignored the sharp look Solarix gave him. “I don’t why your daughter started following me.”

“Ale thinks you are one of _los Protectores_. From the war.”

“He is,” Solarix said at the same time 76 said: “I’m not.”

Solarix was going to be a problem, then. “Not anymore,” he said without a touch of remorse.

“Jack…”

The tone of concern in their voice set him off suddenly. “Stop calling me that!”

Solarix jerked away from him, only slightly, but enough for him to catch the movement. “What else would I call you? That’s your name. What happened to you?"

He gave them a withering look. If he could convince Solarix now that Jack Morrison was long gone, maybe they would let him be. “I died.”

There was a moment of silence as _Señora_ Durante finished dressing Solarix’s wounds. “They call him _Soldado 76. En las noticias. Un terrorista._ ” She packed up the first aid kit and walked over to the ladder, stopping to look back at them with one hand on the rung in front of her. “Don’t eat the food upstairs. It’s inventory for _la panadería_. I’ll bring you something to eat later. You’re not allowed to kill anyone while you’re staying here.”

“I would never,” Solarix said immediately.

_Señora_ Durante did not look at them. She stared solemnly at 76. He met her gaze impassively.

“He would.”

* * *

_I’m tired, Vix. We’re both tired. We haven’t slept in eight days and I’m still on my period. You can talk with Ion tomorrow. Please._

Vix had spent an hour gossiping in Omnic sign with Ion about the city, Ale and _Señora_ Durante, and various technological topics that tended to go the rounds among chatting Omnics. They’d been translating some of it in real time for Alma, but most of it—particularly how Ale and Ion had met—they would have to relate to her later. Ion had been rescued from a trio of Los Muertos thugs by Alejandra the same night Alejandra was rescued by Jack—Soldier 76. Ale had helped Ion to this safe house, introduced her to her mother, and gotten her a job. It was a touching story.

Yawning, Vix relinquished control to Alma, who was better, being human, at getting their body to go to sleep. The two of them didn’t need sleep as often as a normal human might [because Alma and Vix could each separately sleep/recharge while the other was awake] but they needed some [because their physical body needed the benefits of sleep, as well]. Alma nodded at Ion and apologized good-naturedly for stealing Vix away. Ion bid them both goodbye and departed the safe house for work at _la panadería_ , promising to be back with dinner from _Señora_ Durante.

Alma glanced at the mattress in one corner of the room, where 76 reclined against the wall, eyes shut but body too tense to be sleeping. She debated the advantages of sleeping in the one chair, or on the floor, or upstairs even. None of the options would net her and Vix any sleep, not even kicking 76 off the mattress and sleeping there.

The root of the problem was that Ale and Vix could not sleep if they had even the slightest drowsy suspicion that they were alone. They’d each spent too long in horrific versions of isolation; not even practicing unity was enough to overcome the panic they felt upon waking up alone. It hadn’t been a problem before they left Zenyatta’s tutelage; he’d always been near them. Afterward, they learned to find Tekartha temples, group shelters or new friends with whom to get an occasional night’s sleep. Once they’d paid a rather baffled escort to sit in bed with them all night.

The only person here now was 76.

_You want to just wait until tonight and ask Ion?_ Vix asked.

Alma was too tired to modulate her frustration and let it splash all over Vix. _No! This is all wrong. I would totally trust Jack Morrison. He wouldn’t laugh, or leave in the middle of the night. If you had known him, you would have, too…_

_I know. I remember what he did for you. But… do we trust Soldier 76?_

Alma sighed. No, no they did not. But she remembered Zenyatta telling them once that sometimes people needed to be trusted first in order to become trustworthy. Anyways, she’d be damned if she let Soldier 76 bury Jack Morrison without a fight.

Alma stomped over to the supply shelf, grabbed a a knit blanket, wrapped it around her and threw herself onto the mattress next to 76.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Sleeping. Move the fuck over.”

He started to shift, get up. Alma tossed an arm over his legs.

“Don’t go. …I can’t sleep alone. Just stay where you are and ignore me.”

Alma heard a few grumbled expletives. After a moment, he settled down again. She fell asleep.

* * *

Alejandra lay in her bed and stared at the poster she’d tacked to her ceiling. It was faded, with crumpled and torn edges. The faces could barely be made out, and the ‘c’ in _Los Protectores_ had been obliterated by some sort of stain. There were other pictures littering the walls and ceiling of Ale’s small bedroom above _la panadería_. There was a printout of the local wanted poster for _Soldado_ 76 by the door. She had a movie poster from a documentary from _los Estados Unidos_ about the Omnic Crisis, which Ale had never seen, but which featured _Los Protectores_ heavily, on the opposite wall. Over her dresser she had used push pins to secure newspaper clippings: sightings of _Soldado_ 76, headlines condemning or approving the work of vigilantes across the globe, articles about those disasters that no heroes had arrived to prevent. The newest one was a massive shooting at a queer club in Florida.

It was wrong, Alejandra knew, and unkind as well, to hide things from her mother—to sneak out at night and watch _Señor_ 76, trying to learn from him. It was wrong to lie about it. It might even, considering the night’s events, be wrong to distract _Señor_ 76 from his dangerous business by trailing after him.

Not to mention dangerous.

Ale gazed at the posters and clippings, waiting for her _Mamí_ to return and make her promise never to do anything dangerous again. Alejandra knew that it was dangerous, that she didn’t know what she was doing, that she couldn’t hope to ever have the fantastic abilities of _Señor_ 76 and _Señore_ Vix to help her…

_We are Honor. We are Compassion. We are Determination. We are_ los Protectores.

_“Look at this thing, Ale. Give it what it deserves.”_

_53 Dead, Over 50 Wounded at Pulse Night Club…_

_“Come on! It’s just a bucket of bolts.”_

…and Alejandra also knew that the world still needed heroes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don’t forget to review! Also, this fic is unbetaed, so feel free to be helpful and point out typos and inconsistencies, esp. w/pronouns!
> 
> Spanish Translations:  
> Madres latinas/latina mothers  
> Hija/daughter  
> La panadería/bakery  
> Cállate!/Be quiet!  
> Cavaleras/skulls [in this case, the nickname for Los Muertos thugs… Skullheads?]  
> Cariña/darling  
> Señora/Ma’am  
> Vete/Get going  
> Mi hija/my daughter  
> Soldado 76/Soldier 76  
> En las noticias/in the news  
> Un terrorista/a terrorist  
> Los Estados Unidos/the United States


	5. No Place for Heroes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated for canon-typical violence and language.
> 
> Disclaimer: Blizzard owns Overwatch and all associated characters.
> 
> Warnings: mentions of menstrual blood

" _Tengo comida, Señores._ Breakfast!" rang Alejandra's voice, as cheerful as a bell, waking Alma.

As she blinked awake, Alma realized she was starving. She also felt slightly less like roadkill than when she'd fallen asleep. She'd always healed quickly, even before joining Overwatch and undergoing Mercy's slightly alarming yearly "booster" treatments. She knew she'd be back to perfect condition in a week—as long as she could resist the temptation to scratch at her itchy, scabbing wounds. Her period cramps, unfortunately, were as persistent and as painful as ever. Alma rolled over on the mattress groggily, realizing that Jack was no longer there. She kicked her blanket away as she yawned and sat up; she noticed there was a spot of blood it, and, sure enough, more on the pants _Señora_ Durante had lent her last night. Alma threw herself back on the mattress and groaned. "Vix! I hate you so much right now."

_Sorry. Again._

" _Señore,_ are you feeling—Oh! Don't worry about that. I'll bring you some of my pads, and some of _Mamí'_ s special tea."

Alma tilted her head to look up at Alejandra. The girl was holding a coffee pot and mug—like an angel sent from heaven. "Thank you. I'll take that coffee first. How are your knees feeling?"

Alejandra scrambled onto the mattress as Alma sat up, and poured her some coffee. "They ache a little, but only because I went back to the warehouse this morning to get _Señor 76_ 's things. _Mamí_ finally let me out of the house."

"You did what?" That was from 76, who was leaning against the opposite wall drinking coffee—or had been, until Ale's revelation caused him to choke on it. It was a good things Alma wasn't drinking yet, because she probably would have done the same.

"How long have we been out?" Alma demanded.

"Two days. I brought your gun, _Señor_ , and your mask. I'll go get them now from my room. And your pads, _Señore_ Vix."

_Well, forty-eight hours is a new record for us,_ Vix commented. And the cramps should be over tomorrow.

_Thank the Iris for small blessings,_ Alma replied as she got to her feet. Ale bounced up after her and set the coffee pot on the table next to a grocery bag which was emitting an enticing breakfast smell. "It's Alma, right now," Alma told her. " _Señora_ , if you must. Vix and I share head space."

Ale cocked her head, lips crinkling as she thought it over, and then tapped on an ear, indicating the space where Alma's implants showed. "Because of those?"

_Sharp girl. Polite, too. And very brave._

Alma agreed with Vix. She nodded to Ale. "Listen, Ale, going back there was dangerous. And I bet your mother didn't know you did it."

"Not to mention stupid," added 76.

Alma glanced from Ale's hurt look to 76's scowl. Her own look clearly suggested that 76 keep his damn opinions to himself. "Just, don't go looking for trouble, _niña_. You wanna grow up to be a hero? Don't get yourself dead before then, okay?"

Ale rolled her eyes. "I'm not a little kid, you know. I know what I'm doing." She skittered up the ladder. "I'll be right back!"

_You'd never know she nearly died a few days ago. Are all young humans like that?_

Alma couldn't help but laugh. _You were like that once, Vix._ She dug through grocery bag and pulled out a warm _torta_. "That's quite the sidekick you've got there, 76."

"That's not funny," 76 growled. "She's going to get hurt."

Alma sighed, and turned to look at him. "Statistically, she's going to get hurt—killed even—whether or not she goes looking for trouble. That's the world we live in." She paused, remembering 76's words from last night. Then she said, in a softer tone: "That's why we need heroes."

"There are no heroes anymore," he replied witheringly. He took a sip of his coffee as if he hadn't just kicked over Overwatch's metaphorical gravestone. No heroes anymore, indeed.

"That's funny," Alma said, tone a little sharp, "because I thought I was looking at one."

"You're looking at the ghost of one. Less than that. I'm just a soldier now."

How stubborn could he get? Alma was about to snap at him when Vix suggested she take a a breath. _Try to see things from his point of view._

Alma tried. She even thought she had it. "Fine. Maybe you're not Jack Morrison anymore. I'm not Sunstroke anymore either. I'm not even completely Alma Charo anymore. The names can change, 76, but what's inside, your heart, your heroism, stays the same."

"You're wrong."

Apparently she didn't have it. Or 76 was just being a stubborn asshole. "Then what are you doing here, saving teenagers and killing gangsters? That doesn't seem a little altruistic to you?"

He set down his cup and fixed her with a seriously look. "I'm only here for revenge. Plain and simple. I'm going to find the people behind Switzerland, and I'm going to kill them. Los Muertos might have a lead."

_What kind of plan is that? Vix, don't tell me he's the reasonable one, here._

"And you're going to slaughter an entire criminal syndicate just to find out?"

76 didn't even blink. "If that's what it takes."

_No, you're right. He's being an asshole,_ Vix said.

Alma planted herself right in front of 76, crossing her arms. "Half of Los Muertos's rank and file is just local teenagers with no hope and nowhere else to go. Just ignorant, innocent kids. Are you going to kill them, too?" She didn't give him time to horrify her with an answer she didn't want to hear. "76 , listen. There's a better way. The government here has their hands tied; Vishkar is trying to stage a takeover like they did in India and Brazil. I think Vishkar is funding Los Muertos so they can destabilize the country and have an excuse to take over. That's what I'm here investigating. If we can find the leaders behind the plot and prove it, bring it to the World Court, we could stop Vishkar and dissolve Los Muertos."

Alma could see his refusal in his eyes before he spoke: "I'm not interested in politics. Look where it got us last time."

"And you're not interested in justice?" she spat.

For a moment, in the silence that followed Alma's outburst, she thought she could see a flicker of doubt in his expression. Then it was gone.

"I'm not looking for a partner, Charo. Or a sidekick." 76 glanced upward at the trapdoor, apparently thinking of Alejandra. "I'm leaving today. Do what you want, but don't get in my way."

Alma let her tone go very cold, and Vix helped her flatten it in a way humans rarely could, a way they'd both discovered was very intimidating. "I think, _Soldier: 76_ , that you're mistaking me for someone who worked with _Commander Morrison:_ a timid, under-confident, unstable agent called Sunstroke. _My name is Solarix_ , and I warn you now, if you give me reason to believe that you're a public threat, I will stop you."

* * *

Ale stood just next to the trapdoor with a burlap sack containing _Señor_ 76's battered, singed rifle and visor, listening to the conversation going on below. She'd only been there for a few moments, but it was long enough to feel a tight band around constrict around her heart. _Soldado: 76_ used to be Commander Jack Morrison, not just one of the _los Protectores_ , but their leader—and he didn't want to help the city. _Her city._ Alejandra thought of all the things her _Mamí_ said while reading _las noticias:_ how Ale must swear never to join Los Muertos, no matter how badly they needed the money joining the gang could bring; how the elections were all rigged these days; how Ale should stay away from the police because the honest ones were too busy even without her distracting them and the others were as dangerous as Los Muertos. She thought of all the posters and clippings in her room. Ale's cousin was a _cavalera,_ in the gang. It was good money, in a place where money was too hard to find, and Ale got the idea it made him feel important.

_"Half the gang is just ignorant, innocent kids. Are you going to kill them, too?"_

Weren't heroes supposed to help, not hurt?

* * *

76 treated Solarix to complete indifference until Alejandra returned with his pulse rifle and ruined visor in a burlap sack. They were in better condition than he expected, and he knew how to do basic field repairs. It would have to do. He told the kid thanks before he remembered he was trying to ignore her too. She was watching him with wide eyes, much more quiet than she had been earlier. Usually the looks she gave him reminded 76 of Ana's little girl, little feisty Fareeha, back when he'd believed the stories he and the others filled her head with. Now, though, Ale's look reminded him of Ana herself, and looks she'd begun given him after Amelie was taken, after his promotion, when things had started going sharply downhill with Gabriel. Disappointed.

76 shook the memories off and grabbed his things. It didn't matter anymore. Amelie was gone; Ana was gone; Gabriel was gone. He wasn't going to let a naive teenager distract him from bringing their murderers to justice. Find Talon. That was his mission.

He left without saying goodbye to either of them.

* * *

"Was it me?"

Alma looked away from the torta she'd been crumbling viciously as if it were 76. _Pay attention, Alma._ "What?"

Ale was looking at her very seriously. "He's not going to help. Is it because of me? Did I do something wrong?"

The anger melted from Alma's face. Alejandra must have overheard them. "No. Under no circumstances should you think this is your fault, Ale."

Ale crossed her arms. "But if he's one of _los Protectores,_ why is he leaving?"

Alma paused. How could she put this? It was obvious the teen had enormous faith in 76, and now it had been shaken for the first time. She let Vix suggest her next words: "He's forgotten what he is, that's all. He's lost his way." She sighed. "Don't give up believing in heroes, _niña_. I was lost once too, but I had somebody shine a light for me, show me the way. He just needs someone to do that for him." Alma knew the question that statement would invite when she said it, but she still wasn't ready to answer it.

"Will you?" asked Ale.

Alma closed her eyes. What more could she possibly say to him? Was it even possible to bring Jack Morrison back?

_Maybe not. But that doesn't mean we couldn't try to save Soldier: 76._

Alma considered it. To go from being the leader of the world's foremost peace task force, its beloved poster-boy, team dad to a bunch of misfits who had complete faith in one another… and then to have that shattered. No, that was not something a person could come back from unchanged and unscathed—not anymore than Alma and Vix could come back unchanged from being stranded in space for 12 years [even if 10 of them were spent unconscious]. _He's sure as hell not gonna save himself._

Alma and Vix opened their eyes gazed into Alejandra's. "We'll give it a damn good try."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: Don't forget to review! Also, this fic is unbetaed, so feel free to be helpful and point out typos and inconsistencies, esp. w/pronouns!
> 
> Spanish Translations:  
> Tengo comida/I have food  
> Torta/sandwich  
> Las noticias/the news


End file.
